


looseleaf

by goodmorningbeloved (3799steps)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meetcutes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 10:04:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 18,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19315951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3799steps/pseuds/goodmorningbeloved
Summary: A collection of mostly independent drabbles, snippets, and prompt fills that don't quite qualify as full fics from tumblr. Chapters have individual tags and ratings!





	1. college au, i.

**Author's Note:**

> everything here has been posted/will be posted on my [tumblr](http://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com) at some point, i just wanted to keep writing log more consistent here!! i really should have done this way longer ago, i'm sorry in advance to anyone i'm spamming with backlog : (

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: G  
> [anonymous said](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/165486276427/but-imagine-steve-and-tony-being-a-lovey-couple-in): "BUT IMAGINE Steve and Tony being a lovey couple in a high school/college AU, with Tony falling asleep on Steve so Steve just keeps doing his assignment while he's asleep in his lap :D"  
> notes for this one: college/university au, fluff, outsider POV

“That’s…” Sam trails off, torn between bemusement and genuine concern over his presentation partner on the other side of the table.

“You get used to it,” Bucky says next to him, not bothering to look up from his notes. It’s a Saturday night and they’re sitting at one of the corner tables in the library, sufficiently hidden away enough that they can talk without being kicked out. “I don’t know how  _Steve’s back_  gets used to it, but whatever.”

Steve pauses from his highlighting to glance at Sam somewhat sheepishly, giving a tiny shrug. “I don’t mind. He’s comfortable,” he says, referring to the lapful of Tony Stark that he currently has, persistently snuggled against his chest with both arms slung over his shoulders. Steve shifts slightly, one hand carefully splayed over Stark’s back so he doesn’t get knocked off while Steve reaches for a different colored highlighter. “He’s been awake for two days straight.”

That’s…not healthy. He studies Stark’s dark mop of hair and the rumpled gray hoodie he’s wearing, probably one of Steve’s. He can’t see Stark’s face from here, but Sam’s seen him enough – he’s an unspoken package deal when befriending Steve – to know how his eyes are usually underlined by the telltale shadows of insomnia. “Okay,” he says, and decides that’s that, because it doesn’t look like Steve’s letting go of his octopus of a boyfriend any time soon.

It takes about six minutes of constant glancing upwards, until Sam can’t help but comment, “Okay, I think I finally see why you’d like him. He’s…” He makes a vague hand gesture towards Tony that’s supposed to convey what he can’t quite verbalize.

Steve looks up quizzically.

“Compact,” Bucky finishes for him. Sam nods enthusiastically, because there, Bucky knows what he means.

“Fuck you, Barnes, I know that’s your way of calling me short,” snaps a new voice, and oh shit, did they wake him up?

“It’s a compliment, Tony,” Steve says, rubbing his hand over his back placatingly. Stark sits up, and Steve casually shifts again, his hands disappearing somewhere between them, while Stark shifts back on Steve’s thighs. Sam notes how his posture is alert, albeit hunched, and when he finally glimpses a phone screen over Stark’s shoulder–

“Have you been awake this whole time,” Sam says. The clock informs him they’ve been here for two hours.

“Uh huh,” Tony says, unaffected. “Steve, the only tickets I can get are for next Thursday, they won’t  _listen_  when I tell them I’m willing to pay an extra hundred–”

“Thursday works,” Steve hums. “I’ll find a way to come.”

Sam expects Tony to launch into a tirade anyway. Tony grumbles something, slumps forward into Steve’s chest once more, and Steve moves his arms again to keep reading over his back. And then they settle.

Sam meets Bucky’s eyes, finally. Bucky shrugs at him and scribbles a note on his notebook, then passes it over.  _They fit_ , it says, and next to that, Bucky’s drawn two little puzzle pieces slotted neatly together.

Sam considers Steve and Tony again, pondering for a few moments before he nods slowly in concession. He supposes that they do.


	2. college au, ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: G  
> [anonymous said](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/165745443017/i-just-read-your-highschooluni-ficlet-with-steve): "I just read your highschool/uni ficlet with Steve and tony and it was SO CUTE!!! If you have time can we please have more of Tony in Steve's lap? Tysm <3"  
> notes: more of college verse!! it's just fluff.

“This is a crime. You are criminally good at this,” Tony sighs, then proceeds to lean into Steve’s hands anyway. “Mm. Let’s sleep here.”

It’s a pretty idea, but the bathtub just barely fits the both of them even with Tony curled in Steve’s lap. Steve smiles fondly, working his fingers gently through Tony’s hair again and admiring the way his boyfriend tilts his head back with the motion, baring the lines of his neck. “As ecstatic I am about  _you_  suggesting sleep for once,” he says, amused, “we should probably do that in bed.”

Tony doesn’t respond, head still tilted back and eyes closed in peace. Steve hums, cradling the back of Tony’s head with one hand and using his other to brush the suds away from his cheek. It’s futile; a few seconds later, Tony’s head unexpectedly lolls forward and drops into the line of suds along Steve’s collarbone.

Tony jerks up immediately, sending water sloshing over the bathtub.

Steve snickers a little, brushing the new clump of bubbles away from Tony’s nose. “Did you just fall asleep?”

“No,” Tony says, sullen.

“You did, didn’t you. What were you saying about sleep being for the weak?”

“It’s not my fault. You were too good, you know, you and your…artist hands.” Tony huffs, finding Steve’s fingers and lazily twining them with his, the kind of contact that Steve would gladly keep for an eternity or two. “Go to jail, do not collect two-hundred dollars.”

“Sure, as long as  _you_  go to bed,” Steve says with a little roll of his eyes. He guides Tony’s hands to his shoulders, where they reflexively lock behind his neck, and then slowly, carefully stands from the tub, lifting Tony up with him.

“But do I get to collect two-hundred dollars,” Tony yawns, content to hold on and bury his face into Steve’s neck.

“No,” Steve says, “but you can collect me, if you want.” He lets Tony sit on the counter for now, so he can drape one towel over Tony and then one over himself.

Tony yawns again, unresisting for once. “Steve?” he says after a few moments, tugging the towel more securely around himself.

“Hm?”

“You’re cheesy.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

Steve smiles and leans in to kiss him. “I Iove you too.”


	3. undercover cop/prostitute au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: M for implied sexual situations but nothing explicit  
> notes: but just imagine Steve & Tony both as undercover cops accidentally given the same assignment of busting the same prostitution ring, and Steve’s posing as a potential client while Tony’s posing as a prostitute. they’ve never met before, so when they run into each other in the dead of night on the marked street, Steve propositions him and Tony accepts, both unaware and thinking they’re finally on the verge of a breakthrough? i remember this was inspired by a tumblr post, but i can't find the post anymore : (  
> [[original](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/166147941057/but-just-imagine-steve-tony-both-as-undercover)]

Steve takes them back to a motel room he rented for this particular purpose, where they end up making out copiously first just against the door, then finally inside. If either of them are aware that they’re letting this run on for a  _little_  longer than necessary, they’ll chalk it up to the heat of the moment and the necessity for  _immersion_  in their roles, all right?

Anyway, cue Steve tumbling back on the bed and Tony crowding his lap, all kisses and promises of what they can do, and Steve’s got his waist in his hands like his own in prayer. Tony allows the contact for a few dreamlike minutes, and then he guides Steve’s hands up to the headboard.  _Trust me, honeybunch?_ he purrs against Steve’s jaw, watches in satisfaction as Steve’s eyes flutter shut in pleasure and he nods mutely.

Two seconds later, Steve feels the familiar slide of cold steel closing over his wrists. “Right, so I’m arresting you for solicitation,” Tony says conversationally, sitting back up and unfairly unmindful of Steve’s problem still pressed up against his ass. 

“Wait,” is the first thing out of Steve’s mouth. The second thing is, “Were you hiding those in your pants this whole time?” which is a reasonable question, really, because Tony’s been wearing pants, like, three sizes too small this whole time. The third is, “No, I’m arresting  _you_ for prostitution.”

“You’re funny,” Tony tells him. “This isn’t a roleplaying thing, by the way, you’re really arrested.” He starts prattling off Steve’s rights, with his kiss-flushed lips and sex hair, and. And.

“I’m not-  _roleplaying_ , not right now, I mean-” Steve settles for a mature, “No, I work for the state police department,  _you’re_  really arrested.”

Tony blinks down at him. “What.”

So that’s how they find out they’re actually coworkers who’ve simply never met face-to-face. “Is it bad that i think this is fucking hilarious,” Tony laughs and laughs and laughs, quite a sight, and Steve grins up at him and answers no, but it might be funnier if he was uncuffed?

“Oh yeah, shit. Sorry.” Tony chuckles apologetically as he moves over to unlock them, but then he brushes against Steve’s lap and stops. “You,” he begins. So they  _had_  made the unwise decision to sort out the situation without Tony ever moving off of Steve’s lap. “You’re still interested,” he comments, not entirely a question.

Steve actually flusters. “You’re attractive,” he says, not entirely an answer, but the way he rolls his hips up against Tony is definitely closer to one.

Tony steadies himself and hums, looking all thoughtful. “Money’s off the table,” he says, his hands skimming back down Steve’s arms, chest, stomach, until he bunches up the hem of his shirt, “and we happen to be two strangers who met and really, really hit it off.

“Hey, stranger,” Steve agrees enthusiastically, and kisses back when Tony bends down to reclaim his lips.

“Tony,” he says there.

“Steve,” Steve utters in return.

They meet formally in the station a day later. It takes a week for the ring bust and a coffee date. A month for the bed and the handcuffs.

“Oh?” Tony says mildly when he finds his wrist shackled to the bed this time.

“Could bring out the uniform too,” Steve says, the cheeky shit, and Tony laughs and swats at him with his free hand.

“Nah. Just you, if you’d please.” He grins broadly and welcomes Steve into the bend of his legs, snug and fitting.

“I  _would_  please,” Steve says, and it’s the sound of their familiar, overlapping laughter that already makes it so much better than the first time.


	4. college au, iii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: G  
> [itsallavengers said](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/166415943017/college-au-tony-destressing-steve-in-the-form-of): College au- Tony destressing Steve in the form of massages/ hair stroking/ general Physical Contact which Steve Loves bc he is Low-key Touchstarved  
> notes: yet more college au!!! touch-starved steve, supportive boyfriends, cuddling, fluff.

Tony considers the shape of his boyfriend, splayed out on his couch with a paperback thrown over his eyes. Normally, he wouldn’t have to consider at all; Steve’s lap is right there and perfectly vacant, but there’s an aborted attempt at dinner in the kitchen, the book is upside down and something is wrong. “Hey, peaches. Everything okay?”

Steve jerks into a sitting position, the book coming away to reveal his mildly panicked expression. It ebbs briefly when he sees Tony, then comes back with a little wisp of guilt. “Oh, hey.” He smiles at Tony, and it even reaches his eyes. “I thought you had lab?”

“I finished early.” Tony drops his bag by the door, kicks off his shoes, and shrugs off his jacket as he heads over to Steve. “You’re reading?”

Steve frowns down at the book. Steve has a certain way of frowning, barely-there beyond the slightest downward tug of his brows. It’s implied in the rest of him, the way his body seems to weigh heavier suddenly. “Yeah. I was just thinking.”

Tony is mindful of his bag perched against the coffee table, teeming with papers. Normally Steve’s bag is neat. “Got a lot on your mind?” Tony gently pulls the book from him and sets it down on the coffee table. Empty-handed now, Steve half holds his arms out to him, smiling faintly but looking a little lost. Tony smiles a little, sinks down into his lap. Steve pulls him close, burying his face into the crook of Tony’s shoulder and nodding wordlessly there. “It’s all right. Steve?” He tries to get Steve to look at him, but Steve makes a little noise of protest and keeps his arms stubbornly locked around his waist. Tony bites his lip.

He can feel Steve’s arms shaking minutely around him, and he thinks,  _You’re holding me. You have me, you’ve always got me, but who’s got you?_

Tony winds his arms around Steve’s shoulders and works his fingers through the soft strands of Steve’s hair, gentle, always gentle. “It’s all right, sunshine,” he murmurs, “I have you.”

There’s a full-body tremor that runs through Steve. Tony feels it, and in that fleeting moment, he feels that low, heavy, draping weight across Steve’s shoulders. Sometimes it’s the uniform. Sometimes it’s points and papers and projects. Sometimes it’s Steve, Steve with his mouth pressed in a too-tight-line, calloused fingers digging and pinching his own shoulders, urging himself to  _focusfocusfocus_  — sometimes it’s only Steve and sometimes that’s the heaviest kind of weight.

Tony lets Steve cling to him and slides his hand down the back of Steve’s neck, over the tight top knot of his spine. “Steve. Sweetheart.” He cards his fingers through Steve’s hair again. “Gonna move us, is that okay?”

When Steve gives a tiny nod, Tony shifts sideways, coaxing Steve to move with him. He settles against the arm of the couch, lets Steve fit between his legs and rest his head against Tony’s chest. He feels Steve freeze, perhaps unused to the contact or trying to maintain his weight above Tony, but Tony hums  _none of that, come here_ , and loops his arms loose around Steve’s shoulders and urges him to come down.

He rubs Steve’s back, rhythmic and comforting until Steve finally relaxes and sinks down against him. Something damp brushes against Tony’s collar, and Tony knows what it is and closes his eyes and holds Steve a little closer, a little tighter.

“I’m tired, Tony,” Steve confesses, quiet against the hollow of his throat.

And Tony tells him what Steve always tells  _him_  but perhaps doesn’t hear enough on his own: “That’s okay.”

Steve’s exhale is a soft sound, a little shaky in the revelation. He nods against Tony’s neck without a word, but Tony doesn’t need one. He holds Steve and kisses love into his hair.

Outside, the rest of the world spins on.


	5. TSOA au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: T  
> warning: character death, as per the AU  
> [anonymous said](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/166658446967/the-song-of-achilles-is-so-beautiful-yet-sad-i): the song of achilles is so beautiful yet sad. I can imagine how heartbroken Steve would be when he sees Tony die  
> notes: AU based off of madeline miller's gorgeous _the song of achilles_. angst.

He is immortal and Tony is not, and this is a dangerous thing. He knows this the moment they meet, but he is drawn to the quiet, dark-eyed prince regardless, thrilling when Tony seems to gravitate towards him in turn. They are inseparable as children, opposites in everything except each other’s eyes, and the years slip by in Tony’s company. Tony is the one who kisses him one night, a barely-there brush of their lips under the eyes of the sky and the gods. Steve is the one who pulls him closer, swallowing the soft hitch of his breath.

He is immortal, and Tony is not. His mother warns him this, her incorporeal body flickering as she gazes upon him in grief, in pity. “I know,” Steve tells her softly, but it is not the promise that she is looking for. When their meeting is over, he will return to Tony, who will perhaps still be asleep. Steve will crawl under the covers with him kiss him awake instead of goodbye. Steve will smile at him like he is the sun, eternal in life.

He is immortal, and Tony is not. Steve sees how the world has already begun leaving its marks on him: The haunted hollows under his eyes, the scars on his chest. On Steve, they would fade in an hour, in a day; on Tony’s, each one leaves a faint mark even long after the physical mar heals over. Still, Steve kisses each and every one, perhaps in an attempt to persuade time. When they heal, he pretends it is because of him, that it is within his power to keep Tony safe.

He is immortal, and Tony is not, but in the moments they are alone, face-to-face in the darkness or shoulder-to-shoulder in a crowd, Steve thinks, _This is how it’s meant to be, this is where he belongs, where I belong._ It is enough to make him forget the war and the death it promises.“Are you mine, for now and always?” Tony asks him that night, pleading for things that Steve cannot promise him, but it has never stopped Steve before. “Now and always,” he whispers, defying Tony’s fate, defying his own.

He is immortal, and Tony is not. In war he can no longer afford to forget this. “Please stay,” he begs when Tony makes to join him in battle, because he knows how much the sight, the act, of death cleaves away from Tony. “Please wait for me in the camp, Tony, I cannot bear to lose you.”  _Please do not look at the blood my hands will spill. Please still love me in the aftermath._ In wordless understanding, Tony takes his hands, hands that are capable of such awful things. Steve is immortal but when Tony kisses him he is at his mercy. Steve would touch his knees to the ground for him; Steve would move mountains for him.

He is immortal, and Tony is not. He has known this for every waking second he has spent by Tony’s side, and yet when that dreaded day comes and they bring his body to him, still and silent and seeping red, it is like the learning of a new truth, a  _violent_  truth. Steve weeps and weeps, brought to his knees in a way that only Tony has ever been able to do. His tears might rival those of Eos, but the gods spare him no mercy, just as they had spared none for his lover. The sun will sink and Tony will be dead in his arms. 

He is immortal, and they are not. Blinded by grief and  _rage_ , it has never been easier to fight, to carve through the battlefield.  _You chase your own death_ , his mother’s voice pleads in his ear, but he is already at the end of his universe, where Death smiles at him, wearing the face of the man with Tony’s blood on his hands, perhaps in challenge. Perhaps in pity. Perhaps in mercy.

Steve does not think twice about lunging for him, blood singing,  _I will make you pay, I will eat you **raw** ,_ because he is immortal and they have left him with nothing more to lose and in the end, this— _this_  is what makes him most dangerous of all.


	6. demon & summoner au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: T  
> [prompt](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/167351690837/if-youre-taking-prompts-i-dragged-you-into-hell): If you're taking prompts, "I dragged you into hell by accident but you actually like it here so it’s cool." for Steve/tony? :)  
> notes: angels/demons AU, demon!steve, demon!bucky, and a tony who is a little shit.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says, appearing in the flaming doorway of Bucky’s bedroom. (Bucky’s idea entirely. Steve keeps trying to tell him it’s impractical, but he likes the whiff of smoke every time he passes through, okay.) Bucky looks up warily from his phone, because Steve’s wearing that semi-guilty expression that literally no other demon is capable of making.

“Oh no,” Bucky says. “What did you do now.”

Steve makes a distressed noise. “An  _accident_ ,” he begins meaningfully. “I didn’t. I didn’t  _mean_  to. It’s just, you know how you were saying I should ask that one human out already?”

Oh, Steve’s human, that shortstack who was a hot topic for the denizens of Hell. Steve’s been nursing a puppy crush on him since the fiasco with Bain trying and failing to seduce the Stark heir. (Actually,  _puppy crush_  might be an understatement for it. Steve hadn’t resembled anything like the cute mortal puppies when he found out what Bain did to Tony and chased her down in his demonic form. Like a demon puppy crush, then.) “What? Did you finally ask him?”

Steve fidgets. He’s  _fidgeting._  This is bad. “Um.”

Bucky decides that the dread building up in his stomach is going to be bad for his health, so he gets up and walks out his room so he can nip this in the bud before it shaves off a century from his lifespan. “I swear I will draw demon wards on your orange juice if you–”

He pauses in the living room, because there is a human in their vestibule, standing over some protection runes. No, not just any human,  _Steve’s_  human. “Oh, hell,” Bucky swears, “Steve, I didn’t fucking mean  _kidnap_  him, the humans  _just_ got over the whole Hades and Persephone thing–”

“There’s more of you?” the human shouts. “Holy shit, Steve, this is  _insane_.”

“He knows your name?” Bucky demands, turning to his lifelong best friend.

“Oh my god, is your carpet on fire?” Now the human’s crouching down and poking around their vestibule.  _Bucky’s_  vestibule! He infused the wood with energy himself! “Wait, am I allowed to say that here or is it considered blasphemous? Oh my god, your carpet  _is_  on fire.”

“Tony,” Steve says, sounding strangled. Bucky’s about to give him a reason to sound like that.

“Are you a demon too?” the human,  _Tony,_ asks Bucky this time.

Bucky, unimpressed (Steve’s been gushing about how  _smart_  this human is), unfurls his wings a little.

“I summoned two demons!” Tony exclaims in delight. “ _Wicked_.”

More like  _he_ was summoned by a demon. And  _wicked_? Steve looks positively enamored despite the situation. But then Bucky turns a severe glare on him and Steve wilts, and his conflicting joy and guilt is so palpable that Bucky just eventually gives up. “Okay, fine. You dragged a human to hell with you. I forgive you. Now what the hell do we do?”

“I was about to leave, and then he hugged me. I wasn’t expecting it,” Steve says mournfully. “Now he wants a tour.”

“Hell yeah I do,” Tony agrees from his protection circle. Then he laughs like he’s made the most clever joke, and it takes Bucky a while to understand, then promptly groan and drag a hand down his face.

“Do not let him go into my room,” Bucky warns him, and Steve perks up immediately, tail flicking and wings bristling in newfound excitement. “I will not be held accountable if he gets barbecued.”

“That would be  _so_  cool,” Tony breathes.

“I’m not letting you get barbecued, Tony,” Steve protests, shooting Bucky a stern look as he moves towards the human. Bucky turns and covers his ears so he doesn’t have to listen to Steve fretting over Tony, who’s doing his best to smudge the protection circle so he can  _experience Hell for real, Steve, you have no idea how many people have told me to go here and now I actually am!_

At least now Steve will stop pining so damn hard.


	7. college au, iv.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: T  
> [prompt](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/167379499222/were-both-hired-as-disney-world-royalty-and-our): “we’re both hired as disney world royalty and our characters never intermingle but that won’t stop me” From the au list? (Not sure which characters they would be though haha)  
> notes: fluff, unsurprisingly. PDA. disney references. a bad pun. stevetony + kids. also, this takes place within the mini college verse :')

Steve smiles warmly down at the group of children gathered around him. “Hey, ah, tell Anna I said hi for me, will you? I haven’t seen her around lately.” He smiles bashfully as the kids  _aww_ at him.

“But she’s right  _there_ , Kristoff!” a boy gasps, pointing to the other side of the fair, where Pepper is entertaining her own group of kids with DUM-E, who’s been decked in an Olaf costume for the occasion.

The girl next to him goes  _shh_. “He’s at the trading post right now. Princess Anna’s back in Arendelle, duh!”

“Ohh.”

“Hey, be nice to each other,” Steve tells them.

“Yes, Kristoff,” they chorus. They leave as a little group, but Steve watches as they eventually splinter off to different parts of the festival, looking for the other costumed characters. Steve smiles at the sight. The turnout’s been great, they’ve already exceeded their donation goals for the charity, and he gets to see the wide-eyed wonder in the children’s eyes firsthand. It might just be better than being Captain America.

Bucky comes darting by with four kids in tow. “D’you guys see it?” he whisper-shouts to them. “Oh, man, Rapunzel’s gonna ki– I mean, kiss me zero times today if I don’t find her crown.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have taken her crown in the first place, Eugene,” one of the kids huffs at him.

Steve grins a little at the improvisation. Bucky sticks his tongue out at him when the kids aren’t looking. “All right, all right,  _sassy_. Look around, it’s gotta be here somewhere.”

Steve makes a show of holding up his pickaxe as the children scatter around him, checking in and under the cardboard sled and peering into the concession stand that they had repurposed for the Wandering Oaken’s Trading Post ( _and Sauna!_  Tony had shouted while Steve was painting the words in). “Oh!” exclaims the girl who checks the latter, and Steve turns for a moment, wondering if Bucky really hid the crown there. But then one of the others calls out, “Found it!” and holds up a satchel that had been hidden next to a lamppost, completely in plain view. The girl straightens, dusting off her pants. She looks at Steve, then at the trading post. Then she grins and breaks out into a run to join the others.

Steve raises an eyebrow and hikes the pickaxe against his shoulder. Without another word, he walks backwards until he can lean an elbow casually against the counter and rap his knuckles once, twice. “Aren’t you in the wrong pond, your Highness?”

Tony pops up from inside the stand, abashed but unapologetic. He looks a little rumpled and warm from the heat, the collar of his white shirt tugged slightly wider open, and Steve feels like tugging him in by that collar and kissing him. “Hey, Capsicle.” Tony grins. “Ariel wouldn’t be happy to hear you call her kingdom a pond, you know.”

Steve, unable to help himself, grins back. “Did you come all the way here just to use that pun on me?”

“Maybe. C’mon, don’t act like you’re not impressed.”

“It’s awful.”

“It’s  _appropriate_. Bet you’re wearing the uniform under that, aren’t you.”

Steve hums, leaning his other elbow on the counter now and raising an eyebrow at his boyfriend. “What are we betting on?”

“Mr. Kristoff?” The small voice makes them jump about a foot part from each other. He hears Tony yelp and crash spectacularly into some props. There’s a little girl standing behind him, chewing on her thumb nail. (She’s wearing a Captain America shirt, to Steve’s endearment.) “What’s Prince Eric doing back there?”

“Oh, is that what his name is?” Steve says musingly, placing a hand on his hip. “I was about to catch him for being a thief.”

“Nope!” Tony chirps, reappearing with a smooth toss of his hair, which Jan had styled to fall in loose, easy waves. “It looks like Aladdin was already here before me. ‘Sides, Kristoff and I are great friends now. He’s got ice, and I’ve got…melted ice.”

“You mean the ocean,” Steve says.

The girl giggles. “No wonder Princess Ariel got tired of you.”

“She  _what_?”

In the distance, they spy Natasha and Pepper sitting on a bench together still in their respective costumes, eating lunch together.

“My  _heart_ ,” Tony laments impressively.

“I’m gonna go eat lunch with them too,” the girl decides. “Mr. Kristoff, can I have your autograph?” She holds out her little autograph book, and Steve beams and tells her  _of course_  and signs it. “I guess you too, Prince Eric,” she says afterwards, and it isn’t until they’ve both signed and she’s left that Tony remarks, “They’re growing up with  _attitudes_.”

“You’d know, wouldn’t you.” Steve turns back to him with a grin.

Tony narrows his eyes at him. “I see my boyfriend’s also got an attitude.”

“I don’t remember you complaining before.”

“That’s ‘cause you had an attitude in  _bed_ ,” Tony says wisely, and Steve snorts and looks around to make sure none of the kids have heard. “Anyway, now that our princesses have both discarded us, wanna take a lunch break together? Thor and Jane have everyone plenty distracted with their yelling competition.”

On cue, a vaguely inhuman yell ripples across campus. Steve, who’s been hearing it periodically for the past half hour, comments, “So  _that’s_  what that is.”

“Uh huh.” Tony deposits a knapsack on the counter, then gives Steve a winning smile. When a few seconds pass and Tony makes no other move, Steve arches an eyebrow.

“Are you stuck in there.”

“Maybe.”

Steve loves him. “Tony.”

Tony’s expression melts into one of shame. “I broke off the door handle when I fell.”

“Of course you did.” Steve doesn’t mention that he can probably give the door a good nudge and get out. Instead he’s fighting a smile as he clears the bag and his pickaxe out of the way and reaches for Tony across the counter. He gets a good grip under his arms, then swings him smoothly up and over.

“My hero,” Tony swoons with a laugh.

The momentum carries them through half a twirl, and Steve, smiling equally hopelessly, sets him back on his feet and bends down to kiss him.

When they part, they’ve got a few bystanders watching, mostly kids going  _aww._ “Two princes are okay?” one of them whispers.

“Uh huh,” says another. “Look, they’re in  _lo-ove_.”

Steve blushes, but Tony doesn’t move Steve’s hand away from his waist, even when Steve ducks his face a little into his neck to hide. He can hear the smile in Tony’s voice when he turns to tell the kids that yes, two princes and two princesses are more than okay, and that’s when Steve’s once more reminded how much he loves him.

-

“Congratulations, you broke the internet,” Natasha says during their little after-party that night. She flashes her phone screen, where a picture of Steve and Tony mid-twirl has apparently been making its rounds on Twitter.  _PLENTY OF OTHER FISH IN THE SEA_ , crows a particularly ambitious headline.

Tony immediately launches into a rant about  _the media_ and  _never getting it right_ and  _why are they showing_ us  _sucking face when Steve literally raised thousands of dollars through the charity_ –

“It’s a good picture though,” Steve placates as he tugs Tony into his lap. Finally he can nuzzle past the open collar of Tony’s shirt and kiss him there.

Tony sighs, relaxing just as quickly into the touch. “I guess,” he relents.

All in all, Steve considers the day a victory.


	8. college au, v. (ft. dnd)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: T  
> [i said](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/167466533892/so-i-want-collegeau-avengers-getting-together): so i want college!AU avengers getting together every week to play d&d. thor acts as the dungeon master, because he turns out to be an amazing storyteller and he comes up with so many good plots that the party secretly thinks he’s secretly from another universe or something  
> notes: more college verse, except my dnd garbage shows through. featuring the core 6, fluff, and my young silly mind who confused tieflings with halflings back then

on this particular night, their journey starts out as such: “you all approach a tall, nearly unscalable gate laden with spikes and locked from within. on the other side is a camp of vicious trolls who guard the magical artifact you seek. for now, they are unaware of your presence, and you may be able to sneak in unnoti-”

“i climb the spikes to get to the other side,” tony declares.

“yeah, no,” steve says. “i yank his leg down so he can’t climb the spikes to get to the other side. c’mon, tony, what did i say about agreeing on a plan with the party first?”

“i have a plan!” tony shouts. “ _attack_!”

“i say he rolls for it,” clint suggests, already snickering behind his beer.

“who?” bruce asks, but he looks like he already knows where this is going.

“both of them.”

thor lets them roll for it. tony lands a nine. steve lands a seventeen. tony therefore pouts when thor describes, “anthony attempts to scale the spikes. despite his tiefling stature, he manages to reach about twice his height, before steven successfully yanks him back down.”

“ow,” tony says moodily. “also, the height comment totally wasn’t necessary, thor.”

“aw, stark, you want some healing?” clint croons.

“i say one of us infiltrates, unlocks the gate, and lets the others in,” natasha says, always calculated in her moves. “my stealth is the highest here. you guys just wait for my signal?”

their party generally agrees to this (except tony, who’s still pouting even when steve leans down to kiss his shoulder sympathetically). natasha rolls successfully enough to get in through the gate without being noticed, but inside she’s confronted by several trolls. “as natasha deals with her adversaries, it is becoming quite late,” thor notes. “there is no way of knowing whether lady natasha is safe or in danger, but you do hear the distant sounds of crushing bones.”

“we should go in and help her,” tony says immediately.

“i mean, usually crushing bones means nat’s doing the crushing…” bruce begins.

“and like thor said, there’s no way of us knowing whether she needs help or not. give her a little more time,” steve says, frowning in focus. “we can’t risk alerting the entire troll camp.”

“thor?” tony says. “i want to roll to use my staff to decimate this gate.”

“i want to roll to stop tony,” steve counters immediately. tony shoots his boyfriend a dangerous scowl.

“i want to roll to persuade steve otherwise,” tony says through gritted teeth.

thor sighs, as this has become commonplace by now. “very well. you go first.”

tony rolls a 20 – critical success. “oh no,” clint whispers. natasha cackles because technically she’s on the other side of the gate, so she doesn’t have to witness this.

thor also looks thoroughly amused. “anthony, how will you persuade steven?”

tony’s eyes are positively glittering. “lap dance.”

“highly anachronistic,” bruce criticizes. “that’s a disruption of immersion.”

“lap dances are timeless!” tony argues.

“hush, children,” thor says wisely, then goes into detail about how tony’s “swiveling hips” and “simmering eyes” convince steve’s character to agree with his plan.

“i hate you all,” steve, beet red, groans into his hands.

next tony has to roll for the actual amount of damage he does to the wall. he rolls a pitiful two, which means he flings a fireball the size of a spitball at the gate. it does absolutely no damage but combined with his horrible stealth stats, a lookout troll notices him. shortly after the party is fighting the entire troll camp, a battle that bruce’s warrior almost single-handedly wins for them.

“can i roll to apologize to steve,” tony asks in the aftermath, when they’re all hanging on with a sliver of health. “ _also_ with a lapdance?” steve, having never fully recovered from the first one, drops his face into his hands again.

he rolls a four, not enough for even a modicum of success. thor describes how he settles in steve’s lap, only to sit on a tender wound on his thigh. “wait does that damage his health,” tony gasps. “did i just kill my boyfriend?”

“i hate you all,” steve repeats gravely.

(no he doesn’t. he makes that evident later in bed - to tony, anyway. and tony, despite his abysmal luck apologizing to steve in-campaign, definitely succeeds in apologizing to steve in real life that night.)


	9. dead girl walking au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: M for sexual themes (this song in general), but nothing explicit  
> [anonymous said](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/167648386622/wait-please-can-we-get-the-dead-girl-walking-au): WAIT PLEASE CAN WE GET THE DEAD GIRL WALKING AU  
> notes: tony helps steve practice for a musical part. they get distracted. tbh, this could be in college verse too

“ _Shh_ ,” Tony hushes him as he crawls onto the bed. “Sorry, but I really had to wake you.”

Steve, crowded against the headboard with his script in his lap, is already swallowing hard and faintly regretting this because  _fuck_ he’s forgotten how Tony never gives anything less than a hundred percent. And Tony is  _definitely_ getting way more into this than Steve expected, moving with a precise, calculated precision, looking at him with eyes like honey and a desire that Steve wishes he’d turn on him in reality–

“See, I decided I must ride you ‘til I break you.” Tony, admirably, doesn’t waver at the ridiculous line. Hell, he manages to make it sound hot. 

Admittedly, Steve doesn’t hear much of the other lines because Tony’s prowling closer, crawling straight over his legs and into his lap and then settling there like he  _belongs_ –

And then he has to sing the line  _shut your mouth and lose them tighty-whiteys_  and even he can’t keep a straight face at that. He breaks first and Steve follows a split second later, and their heads almost bump together as they positively cackle in the safety of Steve’s bedroom.

“Oh my god,” Tony wheezes against his shoulder, “oh my god, how are you going to get through this onstage,  _oh my god_.”

“I  _know_ , just– Tony, stop laughing, you’re not helping–!” But Steve’s still laughing himself so it’s absolutely ineffective, and they’re both useless for the next minute or so. Steve tries to push off the giggling lapful of Tony Stark, but Tony’s having none of it, playfully catching his wrist in a hand.

“Ah, ah.” He grins, shifting even closer until their hips are flushed together. “Tonight I’m yours,” he continues in a little purr, “I’m your dead girl walking.” His other hand trails up Steve’s stomach, feather-light over the woefully thin fabric of Steve’s t-shirt. “ _Get on all fours,_ ” he gives Steve a playful little shove, and Steve’s laughter suddenly dies down as Tony’s eyes turn that shade of seductive again, seamless and convincing, “kiss your dead girl walking.”

It’s in the middle of the line  _bow down to the will of a dead girl walking_ that Steve takes Tony by the back of his neck and yanks him down into a kiss, and then the song’s discarded along with their shirts and pants–

In the aftermath, neither of them seem terribly surprised. “Holy shit,” Steve mutters to the ceiling.

“ _In here it’s beautiful_ ,” Tony hums, rumpled and sated as he curls into Steve’s side. Steve snorts and turns so he can kiss him quiet.

“I like your voice,” he confesses against Tony’s mouth. “You should’ve auditioned too.”

“I’m starting to regret it now too,” Tony sighs, slipping his arms around him. “But hey. I can still help you practice.”

Steve supposes he’s right. He pushes himself up on an elbow for a second, searching for the covers to pull over them, but Tony seems to have a different idea. He hooks his leg around Steve’s hip and rolls them over until he’s on top again. “What do you say?” he murmurs, nipping at Steve’s bottom lip. “One more run-through?”

Well, practice  _does_  make perfect.


	10. soulmate au, i.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: M  
> notes: [based on “you have a black stain where your soulmate is supposed to touch you for the first time and it turns to millions of colors once they do”](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/168092490882/based-on-you-have-a-black-stain-where-your)

there are hand-shaped marks inked into Tony’s waist, pinky-to-thumb with a brush of the palms. he doesn’t realize the implications of this until his first time with someone, and it’s messy and imperfect and unmemorable but they get him on all fours and grip his waist for leverage. the contact sends a jolt of panic through Tony, and he’s shoving them off and scrambling to the bathroom before his partner can blink.

he feels an indescribable relief when he lifts his shirt and finds that the marks are still ink black.

this…changes the way he thinks of his soulmate. he doesn’t notice it happening – maybe he doesn’t want to notice it happening – but it does. when the man he’s been making eye contact with across the bar all night finally pushes him up against a bathroom wall, Tony lets it happen, hoping he’ll reemerge afterwards with changed marks. when the woman he falls into bed with purrs for him to turn around, Tony goes.

it’s not that he doesn’t like the sex. it’s good– makes  _him_  feel good. sometimes his knees are a little worse for wear afterwards, but he knows, he  _knows_ , once he gets those spots of color on his skin, it will have been worth it. he’s aware of his presence in any room, how people are only ever interested in his money or his looks – and since his soulmarks are on  _him_  and not on his bank account, Tony’s willing to use his body to speed up the process of meeting that one person who’s supposed to be his soulmate, who will supposedly love him unconditionally. Tony’s always wanted to see something impossible happen, after all.

when Loki’s first apprehended and the Avengers come onboard the Helicarrier for the first time, Tony sees Captain America out of uniform for the first time. Steve’s hands are folded loosely on the table as they debrief, and Tony catches a glimpse of black…smears? huh, so Steve Rogers prefers to work with charcoal. from the biographies, Tony always pegged him as more of a watercolor kind of guy.

when the explosion rocks the ship and sends Tony sprawling to the floor, he knocks his head against something solid. he’s understandably dazed after that–  _long_  after that. for the whole fight, really. there are lots of explosions. a rotor almost shreds him. so he’s not thinking about much else, yeah.

in fact, he doesn’t think of the marks on his waist again until after they stop the invasion. that makes sense, right? can’t exactly have sex when they’re fighting aliens or trying to clean up the city they sort of trashed while they were fighting those aliens. it’s during his first night back in the tower that he can actually strip out of his clothes and go into the bathroom  _not_  in a mad rush, which means he moves slowly enough to see the spot of–  _color?_ on his waist. Tony freezes, eyes on himself and breath baited, and slowly he turns and inspects himself. when?  _who?_ was it someone he was trying to evacuate? someone from medical? someone from a press conference? he forces himself not to panic. (like he  _hasn’t_  met his soulmate, hasn’t been  _touched_ by his soulmate, how he possibly may never see them again because if they never approached him about, then fuck, they probably know and they don’t  _want_ him–)

he’s in a bad mood for the next few days. this is why one morning, when they’re all gathered for breakfast, he catches paint smeared on Steve’s hand and snaps, “no one ever tell you it’s rude not to wash your hands before eating, Cap?”

Steve frowns. Tony expects an argument to break out, but then the other man just shrugs a little. “i…can’t,” he says, a touch helplessly. it’s infuriating. Tony huffs and takes his breakfast downstairs, not bothering to hear Steve’s excuses.

Steve  _does_  that–makes him feel so much. it seems almost effortless, the way he grinds on Tony’s nerves, and Tony only takes comfort from the fact that even though it takes more to rile Steve up, Tony often catches him clenching his jaw in frustration. it’s push-and-pull. (or, in Tony’s case, just push and push and push.)

maybe this tension makes it no surprise that one of their arguments turns into a kiss, and the kiss turns into more kisses, and then they’re push-and-pulling each other’s clothes instead. Tony makes a noise of protest when Steve begins to tug up his shirt and turns himself around instead. (he’s not soulmate-searching. he hasn’t– Jesus, when was the last time he did this? but it’s become muscle memory.)

“why?” Steve pants against his neck, audibly aroused but doing absolutely nothing about it. “i- no, i wanna see your face, Tony.”

Tony only growls and shoves his hips back against Steve’s impatiently, trying to spur him into just getting on with it. Steve  _does_ finally take him by the hips– but it’s feather-light, careful and gentle, so  _gentle_ , as he coaxes Tony to turn around again, and Tony wonders why this feels– feels so–

“it’s you,” bubbles out from his mouth suddenly, and he’s looking up at Steve with wide, stunned eyes. he’s remembering an explosion, a flash of pain across his temple, and then a pair of hands helping him up by the waist with that same  _gentleness_ –

“it’s me?” Steve echoes, looking a little puzzled. “yes, it’s me, Tony.”

Tony shakes his head. he turns on his knees once again, the bed dipping under his weight, and takes off his shirt. “i told you,” he hears Steve protest behind him, “i want to…” and then he trails off when Tony reaches back blindly and finds his hands, then fits Steve’s prismacolor palms over the skin of his waist.

he hears Steve’s breath hitch.

 _oh_ , Tony thinks, eyes riveted on the headboard,  _what the hell were you thinking, Stark? your soulmate’s Captain America and you fucking tell him in the middle of sex, of_ course _he won’t w–_

and then he feels Steve’s lips brush over the back of his neck, a barely-there kiss that sends shivers of something warm twining up Tony’s spine, a sensation that makes up entirely for that lost first contact. “it’s you,” Steve repeats, and his voice, low and amazed and reverent, has Tony thinking back in wonder,  _it’s us._


	11. mermaid au, i.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: G  
> notes: i've mentioned having a million takes on mermaid AUs; this was a snippet of one of them [[original](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/168814726757/steve-tonys-voice-is-heavy-with-a-sleep-thats)]

“Steve?” Tony’s voice is heavy with a sleep that’s been forced on him, and his eyes are slow and lethargic as they shift upwards to take in the sight of Steve, silent and stoic as he carries Tony…somewhere. 

Somewhere. 

A cool morning breeze, a fine mist from crashing waves, the smell of the ocean. 

“Where… Where’re we going?” 

“Home,” Steve answers firmly, gently. Tony gives a soft  _oh_ , trusting this, even though the rational part of him screams that they ought to be careful, be covered up,  _what if they come after us again_. The deep red-flecked-with-gold of his tail must look garish under the sunlight, but Tony only remembers how Steve once ran his fingers reverently along its curve and told him  _you’re beautiful_. 

“With you, right?” Tony mumbles, tilting his face into Steve’s chest. Steve smells more strongly of the sea. Of home.

“Yeah. With me, Tony.” Steve’s voice sounds thick, almost lost among the growing sounds of the waves. Tony can feel the saltwater lapping at his tail and imagines how deep Steve has waded into the water by now – for him. “I’m never going to let them take you away from me again.”

“Good,” he murmurs.

He closes his eyes and lets Steve bring them back to the sea.


	12. domesticity prompts, i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: T  
> [steveplustony sent](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/169789577317/oh-my-god-5-for-the-domesticity-prompts-please): "I trimmed you a love note into the lawn"  
> notes: fluff and domesticity, ft. dum-e & jarvis

“Steve.  _Steve_.”

Waking up in the middle of the night is jarring enough. Waking up with Tony bent over the back of the couch and practically nose-to-nose with him sends a worse jolt of panic through him, because his husband’s got that frighteningly excited gleam in his eyes. It’s the same expression he wore before he showed Steve a prototype of a suit and then spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning out the aftermath of an explosion.

The fact that the last thing Steve remembers calling down into the workshop is  _don’t forget to mow the lawn_ and that the clock now says it’s four in the morning adds cause to worry.

“The fire extinguisher’s in the kitchen.” Steve moves on autopilot, flying off the pillows and inadvertently knocking into Tony’s forehead.  _First, the extinguisher, then the phone, then try to contain the damage, then—_

“Ow,” Tony says plaintively, rubbing the sore spot.

Oh, no.  _First apologize,_ then _the extinguisher—_  He catches Tony and presses a loud kiss to his forehead, then starts for the kitchen in a series of automatic movements. “If the fire department hasn’t already been contacted, get them on the phone.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on!” Tony laughs suddenly, sounding real delighted about the wildfire that’s probably eating up their rose bushes right now, and catches Steve by the elbow.

Steve looks at him, feeling a little wild-eyed. He must be about as disheveled as he feels, because Tony’s stifling more snickers as he reaches up and pats Steve’s hair down to something more presentable. “We have to put it out before it spreads,” Steve says emphatically.

“…Put what out?” Tony places both hands flat-palmed on Steve’s shoulders to keep him in place. He wouldn’t be able to stop Steve if he tried, but Steve indulges his husband and keeps still. “Unless you were trying to make creme brûlée again in your sleep, there’s no fire, honey.”

“The  _yard._ ” Why isn’t Tony more concerned? He should be more concerned. “The mower—” that Nat had given them for Christmas, that came with extra sharp blades. Oh, no. No one’s been hurt, hopefully.

“ _Oh_.” Realization dawns on Tony’s face, and then his grin is back. Steve huffs. “I’m going to ignore that, one, you assumed I’d set the lawn on fire, and two, you assumed JARVIS isn’t already well-equipped for such a situation—”

“Unfortunately, I am,” JARVIS whirrs from above.

“—yes, see. I’m going to ignore both of those hurtful things, because Dum-E and I figured it out all by ourselves and it turns out we didn’t need a certain  _someone_ ’s help anyway. And we have a surprise for you. So come  _on_.”

Steve presses his lips together and looks down at his husband, who’s wearing the usual tank and sweatpants he wears around the workshop. There are smudges of green on his shirt. Tony’s smile is sunny, with a hint of mischief. He smells like coffee and grass.

Oh, no.

“You didn’t reconfigure Dum-E into a mower, did you?” he asks, rubbing his eyes as he’s led to the front door. “He gets sad and scared when you threaten to turn him into something else.”

“I’d never let him hold a sharp object, let alone  _give him sharp objects for hands_.” Tony shakes his head reproachfully. Steve observes the nearing door, which Tony appears to show no intentions of using his hands to open.

JARVIS opens the door for them before Tony walks face-first into it. The barely-morning air is surprisingly refreshing, made moreso by the smell of freshly cut grass instead of scorched earth. Steve frowns slightly at how cold it is and wraps an arm around Tony’s bare shoulders. “What’s the surprise, Mr. Big Brain?” He can’t see anything; the sun hasn’t even begun to rise yet.

“JARVIS, bring up the lights!”

The front lights flicker to life. 

Steve stares, and stares and stares. Then he puts his face in his hands.

“This is the worst thing you’ve done to our house,” he says over Tony’s cackling.

“ _Our_ house,” Tony swoons, apparently hearing no other part of that statement.

“Our house, and our bed—that you desperately need to be asleep in right now.” Steve’s trying and failing not to smile as his ridiculous husband loops his arms around his neck and tries to initiate a slow dance right there, in front of the  _lovE u sTEvE_ etched into their front lawn. “What, you haven’t built autocorrect into lawn mowers yet?”

“Curves are a bitch to mow, I’ll have you know,” Tony says, giving up on the dancing and now trying to push close enough to catch Steve’s lips in a kiss.

Steve, feeling stupidly enamored, indulges him four or five times. He traces Tony’s lip affectionately after he pulls away, his gaze straying to the shape of something bent dejectedly into one of their bushes. “What’s Dum-E doing?”

“He’s sad because he tried to add  _and DUM-E_ but there’s not enough space.”

“…Well, the backyard can use some mowing too.”

Tony’s eyes light up.

“ _After_ you get at least eight hours of sleep,” Steve adds, because he hasn’t gone  _completely_ soft on Tony, no matter what the others say.

“How dare you use our children’s happiness against me.” Tony hasn’t stopped grinning yet, and finally, finally, Steve lets himself grin in return. Tony’s grin is too infectious for him to have lasted much longer, anyway. “But fine. I’ll have you know I didn’t sleep because you weren’t even in our room.”

“Because I fell asleep waiting for you to come up.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,  _oh_.” Steve smirks at the dazed little look that falls over Tony’s face and doesn’t fight the urge to kiss him again. “It’s fine. Now we can go up together.”

“Together,” Tony says dreamily. “Sounds good.” The lack of sleep is visibly starting to affect him, if the increasing weight he leans against Steve is any indication. It’s all right; Steve’s there to steady him.

“Let’s go, Dum-E.”

He waits as Dum-E spins a few times to right himself, then roll up to them with a hopeful claw raised.

“Tomorrow,” Steve promises, using his free hand to pat his strut. Dum-E’s claw whirls.

JARVIS opens the door for them again. Once inside, Steve is about to tell him to turn off the lights to conserve energy. After a moment’s consideration, he asks JARVIS to take a picture first.

“Where shall I save it?” JARVIS inquires.

“Send it to my phone. Tony’s, too.”

“Done.”

“Thanks, JARVIS.”

“Thanks, JARVIS,” Tony slurs helpfully as they pile into the elevator. He’s already half-asleep against Steve, the act of lawn mowing apparently having sapped the last of his energy, but Steve only smiles and lets him lean his head against his shoulder. He has a feeling that Tony will barely remember any of this in the morning, but Steve has no doubt that he’ll be amused. And he’s looking forward to hearing Tony’s delighted laugh again.


	13. domesticity prompts, ii. (ft. superfamily)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: T  
> [anonymous sent](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/169793855927/if-youre-taking-prompts-from-that-list-27-our): “our baby is going to prom”  
> notes: domesticity, sickening fluff, superfamily, ft. peter & mj

“I’m not your  _baby_ anymore,” Peter groans, hanging around the banister like his hands are the only things tethering him to the house anymore. It’s ten minutes to the dance, MJ’s on her way, and his father is  _wearing Captain America sweatpants._

“You’re not,” Tony allows as he deliberately takes a whole minute longer to dig out the camera from the closet. “You proved that last week when you, in a pretty self-directed moment, decided to skip school. But the acts of  _picture-taking_ and  _committing a moment to posterity_ isn’t strictly for babies.”

Peter groans. “I’m going to tell Pops you’re doing exactly what you said you wouldn’t do.”

“When did I say that, again?”

“Two weeks ago!”

“And when did you sneak out of school and possibly given me a change of heart?”

Peter grumbles and resumes swinging idly around the banister. “We’re going to be late.”

“Doesn’t matter. You accompany your date to the dance, Peter, no matter  _how_ late.”

“She’s–” He flushes. “We’re going as just friends.” He hears his father snort at that, but then the doorbell rings and Peter just about leaps off the bottom step to open the door. “MJ,” he says with more relief than he probably should, his cheeks coloring even worse.

MJ’s beautiful, of course. Green is  _so_ her color, and she wears it  _fantastically_  in the form of a sweeping evening gown. She’s done her hair up all nice and added little shiny things in it– and she’s beautiful. “Where’s the fire?” she asks, smiling in that way of hers–where it looks more of a smirk at first, but then you look closer and find the softness there.  _Wow_ , she’s so beautiful. Peter’s noted that already, right?

“All right, kiddos.” To his horror, his father walks out of the living room,  _still clad in his Captain America pajamas_. Peter watches his life crumble right before his very eyes. “Steve! She’s here! Did you find the shotgun yet?”

“Dad,” Peter says, horrified.

“Just kidding.” Tony grins and holds out a hand. “The shotgun would be for you, if anything, given your horrific track record with dances. Heya. Michelle, is it?”

“MJ, please.” MJ’s grinning as she shakes his father’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony, please.” Tony waves airily. “Or Stark-Rogers, but that’s a mouthful. Let me ask you, what’s your business with our son?”

Peter groans and drops his face into his hands, so he misses MJ’s completely straight face when she answers, “To give him more friends, sir.”

“I like you already,” Steve announces as he comes down the stairs with a camera hanging around his neck. Thankfully, he’s  _not_ wearing Iron Man socks. “Tony, what did you need a shotgun for?”

“I made a poor joke and now our son is about to keel over in embarrassment,” Tony replies, leaning up on his toes so Steve can kiss him over the banister. “All right, you crazy kids. Smush in, we’ll get the picture, then get you on your way.”

“You’re letting me drive?” Peter says hopefully.

Steve and Tony make matching little  _ha’s._ MJ’s smirking at him now–he’s never going to live this down, he fears. It’s going to be their wedding day one day and she’ll remind him about it– _when_ they get married, he means. No, no, wait,  _if–_ Why’s he thinking about this already, anyway?

“Camera’s over here, Pete,” his pops says, sounding a little teasing too. Is there nowhere safe?

MJ’s laughing, but it’s not mean. It’s soft and pretty and  _she’s_  so pretty and– “You  _can_ act like you want to be around me,” she says playfully, bumping his arm where it sits limp at his side.

“I do!” he says quickly. “It’s just– I didn’t want to be–”  _Rude_ , he means to say, though his brain sort of short-circuits when MJ takes him by the wrist and loops his arm around her herself.  _Me and MJ_ , he thinks dazedly.  _Me and MJ. Wow._

Steve’s smiling knowingly as he raises the camera to his eye.

“Say cheese,” Tony chimes.

“Gouda,” MJ chimes in too.

The click-and-whirr catches Peter in the middle of a laugh. “Oh,” Steve says when he checks it. “I like this one.”

“You sure, honey?” Tony attempts to lean over the railing to look at the camera too. “Maybe we should take a couple dozen more to be–”

“Dads,” Peter groans.

“Tony,” Steve chides gently, but there’s mirth in his eyes and Peter can tell he’s barely holding himself back from piling on. “All right, c’mon, follow your designated driver.”

“Well, on second thought,” Tony says, tapping a finger to his chin in thought. “MJ, have you ever driven a Maserati?”

“You’d let  _her_ drive?” Peter says indignantly.

“She already has her license, unlike some people,” Steve reminds him.

He’s been  _working_ on it! Not that he has the chance to explain, because MJ looks pretty charmed by his parents, those  _snakes_. “As kickass as that would be, Mr. Stark-Rogers,” MJ says, “I’d probably terrify Peter if you let me drive.”

“All right. And Steve’s fine, MJ,” Steve says, though he looks pretty pleased to hear their names together like that. He always does.

Peter’s parents are sickening. Sickeningly adorable.  _God._

Finally, they pile into one of the cars, and Peter successfully wheedles Steve into speeding just a littleso they’re not  _too_ late.

Halfway through, MJ whispers to him, “During my driving test, Captain America accidentally landed on the windshield of the test car and broke it. After he locked up that week’s villain, he accompanied me and my driving teacher back to the DMV and personally attested to my adequate driving abilities.” She raises an eyebrow. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with how your dad knew I had my license, right?”

Oh, no. His parents’ identities aren’t exactly secret, but they don’t go flaunting it around either. Peter scrambles to come up with something, anything, to protect their secret–

“So Peter’s mentioned a lot about you, MJ,” Steve says, his eyes flickering to Peter through the rearview mirror. He’s trying to help, Peter realizes. “After he told us you already got your license, he talked about how you gave the winning answer to the Academic Decathlon one year.”

“…He mentions me a lot, huh?” MJ’s smirking-smiling at him again.

Peter should have just told her his parents were superheroes.


	14. domesticity prompts, iii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: T  
> warnings: character death (by old age)  
> [prompt:](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/169797983192/11-domesticity-prompts) "Celebrating an anniversary" notes: married couple in love; steve & tony growing old together

On their first, Steve gives him a rose. It’s red, deep red, almost as red as Tony’s cheeks go when this simple act catches him off-guard, and Steve is utterly pleased with himself. He thinks that loving Tony will always feel like this first time he realizes it: so irrevocably, unchangeably, unfathomably real.

Tony kisses him first, claiming to want to  _wipe that grin off your face_ , but it’s a sweet, gentle gesture. So it goes.

Their second is just as sweet.

Steve doesn’t think it’ll ever wear off, the novelty of him and Tony. Sometimes the thought of it will just hit him, and he’ll lower his hand from the comms or pause with a spoon in midair or forget which button he meant to press in the elevator. Him and Tony–together.

He confesses this on their fourth. Tony chuckles, says, “Good,” because he thought he was the only one who felt like that, and Steve is quick to assure him that he isn’t. He kisses Tony like he means to prove it.

By their seventh, he’s realized that gentle is nice, but sometimes less-gentle nicer. Tony seems to agree, if the way he tangles his fingers in Steve’s hair and closes every last inch of space between them is any indicator of it.

On their tenth, Steve gives him another rose. It’s red again. Tony’s responding blush is just as red again, too.

On their twelfth, he takes Tony out to dinner and can’t keep his eyes off of him. He brushes the tears from Tony’s eyes when he tells him he loves him. He holds Tony’s shaking hands when he gets down on one knee and asks if he’d like to make official what’s virtually been true for years.

Tony says yes. After, their friends comment through their laughter and congratulations, that at least it will be easier to keep track of their anniversaries, at least.

To Steve, it all comes down to the same day, that first day he realized the way he always wanted to make Tony coffee the first thing in the morning and brush the hair out of his sleepy eyes and take him on dates and laugh with him and be with him for the rest of his life spelled out L-O-V-E. But he holds Tony a little tighter because he certainly won’t refuse another reason to make the day more meaningful. 

Their thirteenth is anything but unlucky. Steve gets to say  _I do_ at the altar to the man he feels he’s going to love for eternity and more, and he thinks he’s the luckiest man in the world. Tony’s all smile lines and laughter throughout the wedding, the reception, and the rest of the night in Steve’s arms.

Their sixteenth is quiet. Tony’s touching one of the roses that Kamala and some of the other kids had dropped off during a visit, and Steve wraps his arms from behind him and asks if he ever thought the roses were corny.

“Yes,” Tony answers, turning his head slightly to brush his nose against Steve’s. “I loved them.”

Steve kisses the streaks of gray in his hair and promises he’ll give him another on their twentieth.

Their seventeenth is hard. 

Tony kisses his tears away, even when he’s the one in the hospital gown. “You know what we completely missed out on last year?” he whispers. “A dance.  _We were sixteen, goin’ on seventeen…_ ”

Steve laughs through the lump in his throat. “Just get better and we’ll make up for it.” He hums  _young and sweet, only seventeen,_ and it makes Tony laugh. It’s just as musical of a sound as it was years ago.

They don’t get to dance until their nineteenth. It’s slow and occasionally unsteady. It’s perfect. Steve holds Tony tight, kisses love, love, love, into his hair, like he might just burst with it if he doesn’t share even a little. He thinks he’ll have enough love to last him the rest of his lifetime. He’s glad, because that means he’ll certainly have enough for Tony.

“I love you too,” Tony hums into his neck, stepping closer into his orbit. “Always. Long after I’m gone.”

Steve doesn’t want to think about a reality where Tony is gone.

They sway.

On their twentieth, like he promises, Steve buys him a rose, just as red as the first. Tony isn’t there to blush just as prettily anymore.

Steve murmurs as he lays down the rose anyway, “I love you.” The epitaph will make sure Tony, the world, will remember it for years and years and years.  _Tony Stark,_ it says,  _loved,_ and if  _he_ ever forgets, it will remind him too.

Steve doesn’t think he will. He had been right: loving Tony now feels the same as it did all those years ago, even around the absence in his heart, the coldness of their bed. Steve hopes it will continue to feel like that tomorrow–and the day after, and the day after, long, long after he’s gone too. 

Someday, he’ll see Tony again, and Tony will take him into his arms and kiss him again. Tell him he loves him again. Someday, Steve will be by his side again, where he thinks he belongs in this lifetime and the next and any other. Someday, this will happen. If the universe is kind.

Someday. Steve already knows how sweet coming home will feel.


	15. college au, vi.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: G  
> [prompt](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/170365208607/41-pleasee): paint class  
> notes: college au! fluff! artist!steve!

The apple sits on the small pedestal, casting a small shadow from the single warm light source above. “Does it feel like it’s staring you down?” Tony asks across the room. “It feels like it’s staring me down.”

“You sure it’s not just your nerves?” Steve teases, uncapping a bottle of medium. It’s not that he doesn’t have a sharp competitive streak of his own–Tony’s just a little louder about his. Steve mixes a drop into the sienna on his palette, then starts in on the final layer of color, a little something to make the piece more vibrant.

“Nerves? No way,” Tony comments around the paintbrush he sticks between his teeth. “It’s not like I knew I’d make a fool out of myself and  _still_ agreed to go on a painting date with Steve Rogers.”

Steve snorts. Tony says  _I heard that_ and throws an eraser at him, which Steve easily bats away. “That means you’re done, right?”

He catches a flash of Tony’s somewhat terrified eyes over his canvas. “No!”

“You don’t think I haven’t noticed you dipping your brush in dry paint for the past ten minutes?” Steve chuckles, hopping off his stool. “C’mon, Tony, I’m sure it’s great.”

“It’s– It’s–” Tony’s wincing, putting the brush down. “Well. It’s colorful.” As soon as Steve reaches his side, Tony folds into his arms in what appears to be despair. A fairly normal-looking apple glares out from the middle of the canvas.

“I like the eyebrows,” Steve comments, kissing a laugh into the top of Tony’s head. “Very realistic. I can see each fine hair.”

“I  _told_ you it was staring me down!” Tony uses the position to push up Steve’s arms and duck through, marching resolutely to Steve’s easel on the opposite side. “Now I get to see yours.”

Amused, Steve follows him–then bumps into him when he suddenly stops. “…Steve. That’s not an apple.”

“Sure it is.” Steve wraps his arms around Tony from behind and hides his grin into the back of his neck. 

Tony reaches back to poke him in the side. “I can  _feel_ you smiling, you smug bastard. Why’d you paint  _me_.”

He can feel the heat of Tony’s blush from here. It’s sweet, really. “…Light of my life, apple of my eye?” he offers, still grinning.

It takes a moment for Tony to understand, and then his boyfriend is twisting in his arms and cupping his cheeks. “Oh, you think you’re so smooth, don’t’cha,” Tony grumbles, but his face is flushed and happy, a smile threatening to upturn his lips.

“I think  _you_  think I’m smooth,” Steve objects innocently.

Tony laughs and pretends to push away the little kisses Steve tries to give him, but, predictably, it doesn’t take long for him to concede, “I think you’re thinking right.”


	16. blind!steve au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: G  
> [prompt](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/170366219562/13-stony): stargazing

“I don’t remember much of them. Our old apartment– it was always crowded when I looked out the window, like there was no room for anything between the buildings, y’know?” Steve tilts his head upwards, his clear blue eyes traveling aimlessly over the night sky. “Besides, Ma and I used to make up so many constellations that I think I remember more of those than the real ones.”

“I mean.” Tony grins, stretching out his legs on their picnic blanket and nudging closer to Steve’s side. “That’s basically what astronomers do–they just got to the constellations first.”

Steve shakes his head. “Lucky bastards.”

“Lucky bastards,” Tony echoes meaningfully.

“They wasted all the shapes. Named them after things and animals and made-up people mostly, right?” Steve hums thoughtfully, leaning his head against Tony’s shoulder. “I would’ve named one after you.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“You’re blushing, aren’t you?”

“I thought one of the benefits of you not seeing my face was you not being able to know that,” Tony complains, rubbing the sides of his face.

Steve laughs, shifting so he’s sitting parallel with Tony but facing him, the sides of their thighs pressing together. “Can’t help it if you’re really obvious.”

“ _Obvious_?”

“You go still. And you hold your breath a little.” Steve’s hand travels up, cups one side of his jaw gently. He strokes a thumb over Tony’s cheek. He smiles. “You feel a little warmer, too. That’s the giveaway.”

Tony bites his lip. He doesn’t know how to respond to that, except feel himself turn a little redder, so he settles on watching Steve instead. Not having to worry about Steve noticing means he can look all he’d like–at the pretty blue of Steve’s eyes, the hints of the dimples below the corners of his mouth.

“Polaris,” Steve says. “The brightest one.” His thumb moves up to just below Tony’s eye, tracing it out to the corner. His voice turns shy: “I… I don’t remember what it looks like anymore. But now I think I know what it feels like.”

He lowers his hand. Tony, grinning, catches it back in his instead. “Now  _you’re_ the one blushing.”

Steve ducks his head, burying his face into the side of Tony’s shoulder. “Well, I like you,” he says, sounding a little helpless about it.

Tony thinks it’s okay, because he tends to feel a little helpless around Steve too. He kisses Steve’s temple and confides, “Don’t worry. I like you too.”


	17. grade school au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: G  
> notes: kidvengers! the core 6 plus rhodey, sam, and bucky! silliness! [[original](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/170513963942/rhodey-and-tony-are-best-friends-in-grade-school)]

rhodey and tony are best friends in grade school and tony totally ropes rhodey into coordinating their yearbook photos because they’re usually next to each other alphabetically in the yearbook anyway and tony loves his best friend damn it and he wants the whole world to know it. rhodey plays up his reluctance but secretly he’s also a giant fucking dweeb and he doesn’t mind it,at all.

so picture day comes and rhodey points finger guns to the right for his while tony points finger guns left and they’re both giggling about their Genius plans as they leave. then the yearbook arrives and they’re horrified to find that because someone new had joined their class, the rows and columns were shifted, so rhodey’s last on the previous row while tony is the first on the next row. this means that rhodey looks like he’s finger-guns-ing at the far right margin, while tony looks like he’s finger-guns-ing at another kid on the class on the left page. this other kid happens to be one steven grant rogers, who marches up to him during recess the next day and demands what it means.

“what do you mean, what does it mean!” tony yelps as this spitfire refuses to budge from the foot of the slide, effectively trapping tony halfway down. “they weren’t meant for you! and they’re just finger guns anyway! why’re you so angry!”

steve deflates a little. he looked downright ruffled before but now he looks ruffled and confused. “so you weren’t trying to be friends?” he frowns deeply for an eleven-year-old, then schools it away and huffs and goes, “never mind, i didn’t wanna be your friend anyway! i knew bucky was wrong about this.”

opting not to ask what a bucky is, tony scrambles off the slide once the other kid starts skulking away. “waaaiiit, wait wait wait,” he says, “you wanna be friends? we can be friends. if you wanna.” no one’s ever asked him to be friends before, except rhodey, and he doesn’t really count because tony was the one who asked him to be friends first.

steve hesitates, looking distrustful. maybe no one’s ever asked him to be friends before either, which would be sad, but would also be perfect because maybe then he and tony can be friends? “maybe. why. would i have to do a stupid matching picture with you?”

“we don’t even know if we’ll be in the same class next year.” tony narrows his eyes. “and s’not stupid.”

“the finger guns were.” steve crosses his arms obstinately. “we’d hafta to think of somethin’ better.”

“well, we’ve gotta run it by rhodey first.” tony crosses his arms too.

“fine.”

“fine!”

it’s a rocky start to what otherwise becomes a solid friendship (and, according to rhodey, a gross puppy love on both sides). they (him and steve and rhodey, and bucky and clint and bruce, the latter two of which bucky has been trying to wheedle into coordinating pictures with him too) become a tight-knit group of friends, and the photos become a competition of sorts. steve and rhodey and tony think they’ve got it in the bag with their charlie’s angels pose. come picture day next year, they feel pretty good about it.

the rest of the year passes. nat transfers into their class that year, and she quickly becomes part of the family. but then judgment day arrives, aka the third-to-last day of school, aka the day that everyone gets their yearbooks.

they (aka: steve and his uncanny ability to make teachers love him) have ms. hill open up the yearbook to judge who the winner will be. she first takes a few seconds to appraise the enemy team (tony saw the matching striped sweaters that bucky, clint, and bruce were wearing that day and knew what they were up to, but as far as he’s concerned, if they weren’t actually wearing the powerpuff girl costumes, it was a  _bust_ ). then it’s steve, rhodey, and tony’s turn. ms. hill nods, looks back and forth between the two sets, then sets the yearbook down.

“boys, it was a good effort,” she says to bucky, clint, and bruce, and tony grins and starts to celebrate until she finishes, “but charlie’s angels are a classic. rhodey, steve, natasha, i have to say that yours was pretty impressive.”

“what,” tony and natasha say at the same time.

sure enough, right there on the page is natasha between steve and tony is natasha, looking impressively murderous for the camera. tony had forgotten that her picture would pop up between them, but he’s gotta admit, ms. hill  _is_ right–she looks pretty badass and totally fitting for steve and rhodey even if she had no idea of it back then, and definitely way cooler than  _him_. he nudges her so she knows to go along with it (can’t let the other team win by default), but he can’t help but feel a little sad because it had been  _perfect_ , he and steve and rhodey finally in the same class (and him and steve, who kept getting cuter every day, right next to each other!). when else was an opportunity like this going to present itself again????

(a scene that rhodey overhears in one of the tube slides later on:

“don’t cry, tony.”

a sniffle. “m’not crying. tasha looked great and we won anyway, i’m  _happy_.”

“we can still match next year.”

“i know.”

something not quite audible from steve’s end.

“what’d you say?”

“i said i think you’re still an angel.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“shut up! i’m try’na make you feel better!”

“i didn’t say anything!”

“you were  _looking_ at me!”

“in happiness! i’m happy! what’re you– noooooo, steeeeve–”

“shut up and let me hug you.”)

rhodey tries to turn around quietly where he’d been on his way up to use the slide, but then clint swings in from the fireman’s pole and unceremoniously sticks his head into the tube slide. “so did’ja guys kiss and make up yet?”

“CLINT,” tony shrieks from somewhere within, which is all rhodey hears before there are a series of loud, telling bumps and thuds as steve and tony inadvertently topple through the slide.

bucky’s there to greet them at the bottom. “so you admit you didn’t plan that!” he says, pointing an accusing finger at the tangle of steveandtony. “i’m tellin’ ms. hill and she’s gonna say we won instead!”

“don’t worry, all tasha’s gotta do is say no and he won’t do it,” steve grumbles where his face is mashed against the side of tony’s arm. when tony asks him what he’s doing, he says, “i said i was gonna hug you. you’re gonna hide your face anyway, you don’t like people seeing you cry.”

“okay, well, i’m gonna get your shirt gross and wet,” tony informs him, and steve pulls a face but latches onto him tighter out of stubbornness.

they clog up the line for the slide for the rest of recess. rhodey sighs and pinches his nose and goes to join bruce instead.


	18. valentine's day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: G  
> notes: jealous steve, ft. dum-e [[original](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/170884221342/steves-been-surly-all-morning-tonys-not-sure)]

Steve’s been surly all morning. Tony’s not sure why that is, but he figures it’s something going on with SHIELD. He adjusts the vase of yellow roses sitting on his desk, smiles, and continues to work.

It’s well into the evening when Steve joins him down in the workshop. Tony doesn’t notice, crooning loudly along to some Vera Lynn instead (he’s feeling  _festive_ , all right), but he takes notice as soon as two-hundred-something pounds of super-soldier wraps around him from behind.

“Hey, cupcake,” he says, purely to hear Steve’s amused snort. Then Steve’s arms tighten around his shoulders, and Tony feels him give a little unhappy huff where he’s buried his face into the side of Tony’s hair.

Tony reaches up and pats his forearms consolingly, though he’s not sure what he’s consoling him for yet. He knows how Steve works – it’ll be a few minutes.

As he predicts, Steve eventually mumbles against his hair, “Who’re they from?” 

“Who’s what from?”

Steve grumbles something. Tony’s eyes drift lazily around the workshop, looking for what may have possibly offended his boyfriend, until his eyes settle on the vase of roses – the ones that  _hadn’t_ come from Steve. Tony understands. “Oh, Steve.”

“Don’t  _sigh_ at me,” Steve says, still all ruffled, and Tony grins because jealousy’s adorable on him. “I saw it this morning, then tried to go back to the flower shop to get just as many, but they were already out.” Another pause, this one somehow communicating misery without a word. “I only got you one.”

Steve sounds so  _sad_ about it. Tony spins around in his stool, and Steve loosens his grip so he can hug Tony’s head to his chest instead. “Aw, big guy. You know I’d love anything you give me, right? And I only got you one too – figured three dozen was overkill – so don’t feel bad about it.” He reaches backwards until his hand finds the single rose he had been hiding inside a gauntlet, presenting it to Steve with a grin. “Guess Dum-E showed up both of us this year, huh?”

For a moment, Steve doesn’t say anything, eyes fixed on the red rose and lips are parted slightly in surprise (like he thought  _Tony_  wouldn’t get him anything!). Then he appears to regain his wits: “Er– Wait, what about Dum-E?”

Tony laughs and stands up so he can loop his arms around Steve’s shoulders. “The flowers. They’re from him.” His eyes are dancing. “He picked them himself from out back. He got some for you too – a whole bouquet.”

Steve blinks, the surprise flitting across his face again but this time staying. Tony laughs and tries to kiss it away, including Steve’s guilty,  _Don’t laugh, I spent an entire hour thinking about how to throw them out without you noticing!_  He knows he’s successful when Steve’s hand eventually wanders over the small of his back to keep him close, steady.

In the morning, Dum-E whirls his claw in delight when he spies his bouquets sharing a vase, crowned by two red roses in the middle.


	19. bachelor au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: T  
> notes: hurt steve, jealous steve, post-cacw angst. this was a take on the bachelor au, ft. background starkquill and the implications of tony seeing other people [[original](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/173915296332/bachelor-au-peter-quill-is-within-3-feet-of)]

“only you would find a way to make yourself bleed in this very big, very safe, very luxurious mansion,” tony murmurs, bent over his hand.

steve swallows. he doesn’t know what to say to this–the fact that it’s the closest they’ve been and the most they’ve said to each other face-to-face since steve set foot in this goddamn place. he doesn’t know how to tell tony that the serum started healing his hand before the glass even cluttered to the floor, doesn’t know how to tell tony that seeing him kiss fucking  _peter quill_ is worse than shaking hands with a shattered scotch glass.

he settles for a, “they need better glasses.” it sounds as stupid as it sounded in his head, and he wants to flee. instead his mouth keeps running. “you…deserve better. the best.”

he sees tony’s eyebrow twitch, and tony’s smart, the smartest man steve’s ever known, so of course he catches on. “well, this glass was telling me all about space, and one galaxy that apparently i’d love to see, so it was pretty impressive.”

maybe it’s a dig at him. steve is acutely aware that he hasn’t… _done_ anything, at least not as much as the others. he’s been too afraid of tony to, too afraid that he knows now what love looks like on tony’s face when he’s chatting animatedly with strange or sitting with quill or laughing with rhodes, and seeing up close that the look that tony gives  _him_ is far from it.

“he doesn’t know you used to have nightmares, does he?” he murmurs instead. he can’t help it, he’s never been one to accept defeat but it’s so palpable now, because he’d seen tony smile into that kiss, the way tony used to when it was steve holding him close and kissing laughter into his mouth, and  _fuck_ , why did he think he could handle this–

“I still do,” tony says, equally as quiet.

they’ve tucked themselves into the sun room, away from the others. in an hour, tony’s going to be with loki, probably poring over the god’s latest magic trick.

it’s– it’s not fair. magic and palaces and stars, and all steve’s got to show for is the scar on tony’s chest. 

(maybe this is fair after all.)

“you’re still the only one who knows that,” tony goes on.

steve finally lifts his head enough to look at him. tony is looking down intently at their palms, his expression unreadable. 

“where would you take me?” tony says. “if not– space.”

“home,” steve says, an answer that feels as much like an instinct as breathing. “i’d. i’d bring you home.”

the compound had been hit hard in the invasion, but steve had stopped by to see it before they all flew out to malibu. the halls had been dark, empty, but welcoming.

“okay,” tony says, voice strangely thick. steve doesn’t even register what he’s said until tony stands from the chair. “let’s do that.”

“but,” steve begins, looking up at him, startled. “the cameras.” a flimsy excuse.

tony isn’t looking at him, but somewhere far off, his fingers twitching where he’s holding his own wrist. “we used to be good at avoiding those,” he says. “come on. it’ll be like before.”

no it won’t, not really, maybe never really, and steve’s got all sorts of things to say and apologize for, but he can’t help the longing, the  _i miss you_ and  _i love you_ rattling around in his ribcage. he shouldn’t hope for anything, not after what he’s done to tony, but  _god_ , he can’t help it. “okay. okay, tony.”

tony smiles at him and it’s a little sad, but it’s the first one he’s given steve in so long. he takes steve’s hand and together they slip out of the room, and steve thinks that maybe he can hope a little after all.


	20. domesticity, iv.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: T  
> notes: technically not a domesticity prompt, but it's domestic. tired steve, tired tony, tired fluff. [[original](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/176721424807/steve-comes-home-late-and-judging-by-the-dark-and)

steve comes home late, and judging by the dark and quiet penthouse tony must still be in the workshop. it’s not entirely uncommon, but it’s been a long day and steve just kind of wants to see his boyfriend and then curl around his boyfriend and try to sleep, so he tells jarvis to tell tony he’s home.

jarvis patches him through to the workshop’s intercom as he’s peeling off his uniform. “hey tony,” steve says.

“hey, honey. you upstairs already?” tony says, and he sounds audibly distracted. steve feels his heart sink a little, because that usually means his genius boyfriend’s in a groove and probably won’t be up for another few hours or however long it takes to finish one of his brilliant inventions, and that also means no cuddles for tonight.

steve’s hard-pressed to be  _really_ disappointed, though. just like him, tony’s only always trying to help people. steve would never try to keep him from doing that, only when it becomes a hazard to his health, and he can tell by the dishes in the drying rack that tony’s recently eaten. “i’m gonna shower then eat,” he says though, tactfully leaving room for tony to offer to join him, because he can’t help but  _hope_. he’s really missed tony. sure, it’s only been four hours, but sue him for loving his boyfriend.

there’s a miracle: tony says, “hm, okay, i’ll be up in a sec to heat up dinner, and you can tell me all the latest gossip from shield.”

“captain america doesn’t gossip, tony,” steve says like tony’s offended him. it’s true, cap doesn’t. steve sure as hell does. “you’re really gonna come up?”

“‘course,” tony says. “i missed you.”

“okay.” steve’s smiling, and he didn’t realize just how touch-starved he’s been all day until now. he can’t wait to hug tony.

except he goes to shower, then returns downstairs in time to see the elevator open and one of the iron man armors clunk out.

his hope deflates faster than one of clint’s whoopee cushions gone airborne. oh, he thinks, right. tony probably really was deep in work, but of course he found a compromise – the armor could keep steve company, could probably allow them to talk while tony was still downstairs. it wouldn’t be the first time tony used it to multitask. “hey, sweetheart,” steve says though, achingly soft, because even if it’s just the armor, steve still loves him. “busy night?”

the armor shuffles past him, towards the kitchen. the novelty of watching it heat up a pot of soup amuses steve for the next few minutes as tony’s modulated voice outlines his latest project. not for the first time, steve feels a swell of pride for his boyfriend’s talents.

but also, he just really,  _really_ wants to hold tony,  _has_ been looking forward to it all day. and he understands tony’s busy, but it would only take a few secon– no, he couldn’t distract tony from work, that wasn’t fair. tony would come up when he was ready.  _but_ – “tony?” steve finally asks a few seconds later, sounding about as hopeless as he feels. “can i hug the armor?”

the armor turns to face him. steve’s already walking towards him, and yeah, it really won’t be the same because the armor’s taller than him and steve won’t get to envelop tony in his arms completely ( _he won’t be holding tony at all_ ) but he’ll take it. “the armor? well, sure, but wouldn’t you rather–” the armor clicks unexpectedly, and steve stops just a step away as it begins unfolding along the front, crumpling away to reveal–

–tony, in one of steve’s shirts and a pair of boxers, spilling out of the armor and into steve’s already outstretched arms. “see,” his boyfriend sighs sleepily, arms winding around steve quicker than steve can regather his wits and hug him back, “isn’t this better.”

steve feels a jolt of love. it’s almost violent, the way it strikes him: god, he loves tony so much. he can’t believe he ever doubted him for a second–tony, who sometimes knows him better than he knows himself, who can tell what’s wrong with steve and fix it before steve himself can put a name to the problem. “i love you so much,” steve mumbles, finally closing his arms around him and burying his nose into his boyfriend’s tousled hair, feeling every bit of tension bleed out of him, contentment seeping to fill in the cracks. “you  _ridiculous_  man. why’d you wear the suit up here?”

“I was going to fall asleep in the elevator if i didn’t have it keeping me upright,” tony sighs, clinging back willingly.

“then let’s go to bed,” steve says immediately. “i can–”

“uh, no, you still need to eat.” tony pulls back a little to frown up at him, fuzzy-eyed from fatigue and pouting. “more importantly, i need to know whether maria finally asked sharon out, and who’s been changing all the screensavers to closeups of fury’s face.”

“i’ll eat quick,” steve promises him, squeezing his hip.

they still end up staying awake until three in the morning. tony sits next to steve, body angled open towards him and chin propped up with one hand, eyes lidded and tired but his smile warm and fond as steve talks about his day. sometime during the conversation, his hand snakes over to take steve’s and just hold it lightly over his knee. steve deftly switches his spoon to his left hand, no problem– for tony, he’s ambidextrous.

“think we can both fit in that thing,” steve whispers with a nod to the armor still on standby, when the dishes are washed and away and they’re both practically dead on their feet but smiling, buzzed with affection.

“nope,” tony yawns, “but we can both fit on the couch right there.”

“you’ll get a crick in the morning and hate me.”

“not if you’ll kiss it better.”

steve smiles and gathers him back into the circle of his arms, kisses his temple. “okay. i can make that promise.”


	21. endgame au, i.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: G  
> notes: an endgame vent/fix-it/ramble. definitely endgame spoilers. [[original](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/185237033257/in-another-life-tony-stark-lives-in-another)]

In another life, Tony Stark lives. In another life, Steve wakes him up on his forty-ninth birthday with forty-nine kisses. In this life, Steve announces this intent with his first kiss to Tony’s cheek.

“One,” Steve hums, nosing lower to press another kiss to Tony’s collarbone, exposed by the rumple of his sleep shirt. “Two.”

Tony groans. “What.”

“Forty-seven more to go,” Steve says with the tone of a man who’s been set on a task he’s quite happy to complete.

“You’re a little shit.”

“Three.” That one is for Tony’s other cheek, reverent to the scars there.

“I can’t count that high ‘til coffee, you know that.”

“All right, Tony.” Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling and subsequently resorting to prodding at Tony’s ticklish ( _sensitive!_ Tony had once insisted) spots. Then he claims his fourth kiss on Tony’s lips because in this life, he can.

Breakfast is good. It’s Rhodey, Pepper, and Nebula arriving early with promises of paper football rematches, and Sam and Bucky not long after, bickering about something that’s happened on their latest mission. It’s Happy parking alongside the curb and getting out of the car, and Harley and Peter climbing out from the backseat seconds after with talks of a science fair. It’s Bruce ringing the bell with a bashful little smile. It’s Nat greeting Tony with a soft kiss to the cheek. It’s Thor arriving without singing their lawn this time – though the Guardians’ ship does flatten a few bushes as they drop him off. It’s Pepper giving Tony a long, tight hug, even before she takes a step into the house.

It’s eggs and bacon and a jar of what Thor calls space jam and a cake that Peter and Harley conspired together to make. It’s a loud, a little off-key, and wholly loving  _happy birthday_ that ends with  _Tony_ and  _Tones_ and  _Mr. Stark_  overlapping. It’s Tony blowing out the candles, then insisting on cutting slices for everyone, and it’s Steve kissing icing off the corner of his lips when they think no one’s looking.

It’s perfect, and yes it’s Tony’s birthday but it’s one of the best days of Steve’s life, seeing him happy and well. He thinks it might be  _the_ best day of his life, but he’s proven wrong a year later when Tony turns fifty.

(And the year after that, when Tony turns fifty-one– and after, and after.)

In this life, Tony Stark gets to wake up to fifty-four kisses. In this life, he lives.


	22. endgame au, ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: T  
> notes: nightmares, hurt/comfort. this could be read pretty generally, but my mind was on endgame, specifically steve's solo journey [[original](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/185296827357/tony-wakes-to-steves-arms-around-him-trembling)]

tony wakes to steve’s arms around him, trembling, fingers curled into fists against his back. it must be sometime in the night, but long before tony’s eyes adjust to the dark, he feels steve’s tears.

“steve?” he whispers.

“bad dream,” steve whispers back, shaking, shaking, shaking. “m’sorry, i just. i need—“

tony hushes him with soft murmurs, winding both hands up between them so he can cup steve’s cheeks. they’re wet, and his eyes are squeezed shut, and tony has never seen him this damn terrified.

steve’s voice, it aches with lifetimes of memories: “i lost you.”

and tony is no stranger to that midnight terror, to that rampant, irrepressible fear of one day losing someone he loves, but when steve looks at him, kisses him, tells him tremulously  _i love you i love you i love you_ , he does so with the grief of someone who has seen it happen past dreams and visions.

“you haven’t lost me,” tony whispers, sheltering him closer. “i’m here, steve. i’ve got you. you’re safe.” outside, the ocean rears and heaves against the cliffs of malibu, fervent, tumultuous. how does the moon tell it that it doesn’t need to reach so fiercely, that the moon will never stray from its orbit?

he kisses him where he can, reminds him again and again that he’s here and he’s not leaving. in time, steve’s tears slow, but the shaking doesn’t. tony’s hand smooths paths up and down steve’s back, and it will make as many journeys it must to smooth those trembles out of steve’s shoulders.

tony holds him until steve manages to drift off again, until dawn begins to lighten the sky, and this isn’t enough, tony knows, but it must be for now, until steve is ready to put words to all the things he’s seen before tony found him in the dark.


	23. tap it out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: T  
> [prompt](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/185345613407/i-usually-talk-to-my-friends-through-morse-code): “I usually talk to my friends through morse code in class but… apparently you know morse too… and now you know I think your butt is cute”  
> notes: avengers academy, rhodey suffering, unestablished with pining!tony

Friday mornings bring Tony the only time in his schedule when he and Rhodey can actually sit down and catch up over breakfast and, afterwards, a fifty-minute lecture in which he gets to sit behind one Steve Rogers, who Tony’s been starstruck over since Steve joined the academy.

Their friendship didn’t start out on the best foot – as in, Tony literally dropped a box of spare parts on Steve’s foot when Steve first stopped by the lab to introduce himself – but it’s certainly improved since. Steve, he comes to learn, is awfully, wonderfully human. 

Steve may be mild-mannered and polite and slightly stiff around people he’s just met, but it takes a week for Tony to see him at Clint’s place, shouting obscenities at Rainbow Road. It takes a little longer than that to see him helping out Jan with some designs. The first time they have a class together and Tony winds up sitting in the row behind him, he catches Steve slacking off on notes within ten minutes and doodling in his notebook instead. His eyes can run daggers through the routine bad guys they encounter, and every Friday morning, those same eyes always unfailingly turn soft on him with an even softer, “Hi, Tony.”

How was Tony ever supposed to stand a chance?

Steve proves to be the immovable object to his unstoppable force, and it can be infuriating, but in the way that challenges Tony to think differently, to adapt, to compromise. To be  _better_. Tony does sometimes want to move him–and yes, he means moving Steve on his side whenever they lapse into a debate, but he also means whenever they meet in the library to study together, when Steve leans over the criminally ancient computer with him and all Tony can think about is how he can tug him down for a kiss in one simple movement. Things like that.

What was at first easy to dismiss as infatuation with the star-studded hero of his childhood becomes trickier when Tony gets to know the man beneath the mask. Steve’s far from perfect, but he’s perfect for  _Tony_. Oh, and–

Rhodey seizes the hand that was tapping against the desk.

 _For fuck’s sake,_ Rhodey taps sharply against the back of his wrist.  _It’s bad enough when you say it out loud, I don’t want to feel you spelling out letter by letter how much you like Steve’s ass._

He’s barely finished the exclamation point when Tony wriggles his hand free and taps in furious response,  _It’s a cute ass, and I’m only human._ If there was no way to sigh in Morse, Tony might have invented it then with a dejected, sloping dash. Then, in case it wasn’t clear enough, he sags bodily against Rhodey too.

He must be louder than he intended, because a moment later, Steve shifts around in his seat to look at them with a visibly confused expression, even looking a little flustered by it.

Tony freezes where he’s half slid down in his seat and using Rhodey for support, then hastily straightens himself. He mouths to Steve,  _sorry_ , even though his and Rhodey’s little exchanges have often left him wondering what it might be like to put his hand on Steve’s wrist too, and Steve’s eyes flick between the two of them again before he hesitantly smiles back and turns around again.

Being ambidextrous has its perks; Tony can resume taking notes with his left hand, while his right releases the white-knuckled grip he’s got on Rhodey’s forearm and traces a big, glaring sad face on the back of his best friend’s hand.

He feels the tell-tale exhale of Rhodey trying and failing to contain his exasperation.

 _I want to kiss his face off_ , Tony taps forlornly on the corner of his desk.  _And also make sure he’s happy for the rest of his life. Is that too much to ask?_ He appends his message with the rhythmic _dit-dit-dah-dah-dit-dit_  of many, many questions marks.

 _NO_ , Rhodey replies, the caps lock implied by the big, firm presses of his pen against his notebook.  _You would know if you just asked him out._

 _I’m working on it,_  Tony huffs.

 _Work faster_.

So what if Tony’s nervous? It’s not uncommon for people to feel nervous before asking their crush out. And he  _has_ been practicing, running scenario after scenario in his mind.

 _Will you go on a date with me?_ he taps experimentally with his nail, imagining himself asking Steve it. Or, maybe, Steve asking him. Tony’s not picky.  _Hi. I’ve been wanting to ask you out for ages._

_Hi Steve. Are you free Friday night?_

_Just wondering, would you maybe want to go on a date with me?_

_Hey, do you like cheese?_

Rhodey nudges him, a full-body motion, and urgently at Steve, as if to say,  _Ask him_ out loud _, Tony_. 

But Steve is proportionally terrifying as he is wonderful, and all Tony needs to see is the back of Steve’s head, his finger drumming idly on his notebook, the just-visible lines of his pensive face to know that it’s a long shot that Steve is even in his league.

What would Steve even like to do on a date?

The self-sabotaging part of him lobs that question to chip away the barely-built foundations of his confidence, but Tony surprises himself by thinking immediately of a drive-in, or dinner at the diner that supports local artists, or maybe volunteering at that dog shelter Steve absolutely adores.

And maybe, just maybe, he might like Tony back. Maybe he’d let Tony hold his hand and even squeeze it back. Maybe he’d kiss Tony back. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe, he’d say yes to a date.

A date, Tony thinks, watching Steve’s finger lift and lower rhythmically against his own desk. A  _date._ D-a-t-e.

“Tones, you okay?” Rhodey says to him, and Tony realizes that the class has ended and he’s been tapping away on his empty notebook page. Well, it’s not empty. He has a “the” written on the top of the page.

“Huh,” Tony says, reeling.

“I gotta get to training.” Rhodey nudges him gently on the shoulder. “I’ll catch you again later, okay?”

“Okay.” Tony pouts, standing up to give him their ritual hug before school whisks his best friend away from him for the rest of the day again. “I’ll see you later, platypus.”

In front of them, Steve has stood up too. Tony’s throat runs dry of the words he’s been so bravely spelling with his fingers. When Steve turns around without warning and  _smiles_ at him, Tony feels his courage wind its legs and ready to bolt.

He snags it before it leaves him completely. “Steve. I know this is out of nowhere, but you’re one of my best friends, and I’ve been wanting to ask you this for– forever. Since maybe I first met you, except I obviously couldn’t then, because I crushed your foot. I’m really sorry about that, by the way. Hey, you can even take this an ‘I’m sorry’ for that– wait, no, no, I don’t mean that, that’s not what this is. This is– I’m trying to ask if– Would you–”

“–like to go on a date with you?” Steve finishes for him, not unkindly, and has he been smiling this whole time and Tony just didn’t notice?

“I– I mean.” Tony’s flustered. He was biologically incapable of being  _flustered_ until he met Steve, what the  _hell_. He squirms under Steve’s gaze, which remains kind, patient. “I– yeah. Wow, uh, am I really that transparent?”

“Not…before today,” Steve admits with a small laugh. “You’re always moving your foot or your pencil, so it took me a while to realize you weren’t just, you know, an aspiring drummer. But then I noticed you and Rhodey would starting with the same patterns. Uh, Rh and Fe, I think?”

The moment he realizes Steve is talking about  _that_  tapping, that Steve knows Morse, and Tony feels his cheeks flare up. There’s a plethora of things to be mortified about here, and his brain is scrambling to remember all the things he’s going to have to explain, but for now he’ll start with, “They’re our call signs. So we know we’re trying to talk to each other.” 

It sounds juvenile as soon as it leaves his mouth. God, Steve overheard him and Rhodey talking to each other like two kids passing notes–

“I figured it was something like that. It’s cute.” Steve’s cheeks inexplicably turn pink too. Tony wonders what on earth  _Steve_ has to be embarrassed for. “I think you’re cute too.”

“Oh,” Tony says.

“And– I’m glad you think my butt’s cute?”

–oh god, Tony remembers violently, he’d spelled out  _a-s-s_ and Steve had heard it all–

“’cause you kept asking me on a date, and I kept answering but you just kept going, and I was starting to worry that maybe you were asking someone else in the class.”

“No!” Tony interrupts quickly. “Well, I was just talking to myself, but yes. I was–  _am_  definitely asking  _you_  on a date.” He crosses his arms, a reflex. This is the best-case scenario he didn’t prepare for because it wasn’t supposed to happen in a billion years. “But you never said yes, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Tony,” Steve says, and it’s full of warmth and fondness that Tony thinks it’s the sun itself taking his hand. Steve taps something out on his palm –  _y-e-s_ , Tony realizes, the same pattern Steve was tapping on his notebook earlier. “Yes,” Steve says out loud, “I would really like to go on a date with you.”

Tony’s pulse seems to rush in his ears. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Like.  _Really_ , really?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but god, he’s still smiling and he’s still holding Tony’s hand, and Tony’s still enamored. “What was it–Friday night, something about cheese?”

“I mean, I was thinking of proper dinner first, then maybe something out of the cheese fridge.” Tony feels himself begin to smile, teeming with excitement and that feeling Steve always gives him–like he can do anything. “If that sounds okay with you.”

Steve squeezes his hand, and somehow, this is better than anything Tony’s ever imagined. “It sounds perfect.”


	24. identity porn (ft. cap!steve & civilian!tony)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating: T  
> [prompt](https://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/185684887017/we-are-trapped-in-a-bank-during-a-robbery-d): "We are trapped in a bank during a robbery"  
> notes: identity porn, meetcute, everything's the same except tony is a civilian

The most inconvenient thing about being caught in a bank robbery (aside from the essence of the fact) is that Happy is almost always nearby to tackle Tony to the ground, usually ruining the suit he’s wearing. Really, the only reason Tony can handle living in superhero-infested New York City is that he has can afford to fix or buy a new suit every week–and yes, that’s how he’s keeping track of time now, because supervillains can’t take a fucking  _break_ and that means the Avengers are never out of work either. 

For the most part, Tony can live with that – hell, he has a framed autograph from the Falcon hanging in his workshop and his favorite mug to use is emblazoned with a certain red-white-and-blue shield – but there are just days that  _need_ to go smoothly but instead end with him, say, being held at gunpoint, trapped in a burning building, or waking up to a home invader.

Such is the price of being one of the most recognizable faces on the planet, apparently. But anyone who’s lived in the city long enough has grown used to daily headlines of the latest petty crimes and the Avenger who saved the day. Nowadays, most “supervillains” only really want publicity anyway, and some particularly ambitious ones like to get themselves caught so they can make the news by breaking out. 

Tony, the target of more incidents than the average person, has grown more than familiar with the routine, but also particularly with his “saviors.” (He doesn’t consider himself particularly helpless and in need of saving; he knows how to knock out someone twice his size without fancy punches. But he  _does_  enjoy when people underestimate him.) He’s had a nice chat with Black Widow about how she gets stains out of her leather gloves while she sat hogtied on the latest asshole who broke into his house, and Thor’s kind of a regular contact when Tony needs a little pizzazz to go with his clean energy presentations. And there was the time the Hulk pet his hair and rumbled,  _soft and tiny,_  and Tony wasn’t even upset because afterwards he got to meet Dr. Banner.

The point of it all is this: when one morning he gives Happy the day off and  _dares_ to go to the bank alone and is then promptly thrown into a robbery, he’s just disappointed that there are no Avengers around to talk to.

Well, that  _is_ his biggest problem until an attractive blond man tackles him to the floor.

Of course fate or destiny or whatever still manages to ruin his suit without Happy. Tony’s very upset about it for ten seconds. Around that time, he looks up and finds that his savior is quite a sight to behold. 

“Do you mind?” Tony says, gesturing downwards. It’s not that he minds a literal fucking sculpture of a man hovering between his legs, but his suit’s been rucked up by his skidded landing, and he can feel some strip of his tummy poking out.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” someone else in the bank barks, succinctly summarizing their moods. There’s a distinct  _crunch crunch_ of more glass crumbling from the front of the building that just exploded. “I’m going to be late for work.”

Mr. Blue Eyes, for his part, looks equally struck for a moment. Then he looks down, seems to remember what happened, and (unfortunately) quickly withdraws. “Are you okay?” Only then does Tony feel the back of his head pillowed by something warm. It turns out to be the stranger’s hand who’d kept him from hitting his head on the tile.

Broad, hot,  _and_ considerate. Tony’s suddenly glad he tried to deposit a check today. “I’m fine. Not the first time I’ve been in an explosion.”

His savior makes a discomfited noise. “Yeah, I’ve seen.”

God, Tony hopes he’s only seen the flattering headlines. “TV or newspaper?”

The man’s lips quirk bemusedly. “Firsthand.”

“Oh?” Intrigued, Tony pushes himself up to a semi-sitting position. “We’ve met? Sorry, you get into as many robberies as I do, and you start to forget the people you get held up with.”

“You get in a  _lot_ of trouble,” the man agrees, sounding amused, and Tony just sighs and settles against the corner of the desk they’re now huddled behind.

“Well, usually I have good company.”

On cue, someone from behind them cries out, “It’s the Avengers!” Tony instinctively tries to push up on his knees to peek, but his savior puts a firm hand on his shoulder and eases him back down so he can look instead. Tony finds that a little hot and isn’t sure what that says about him.

“Hey, what’s your name?” he asks on impulse. Robberies can drag out for hours, depending on how long it takes the idiot criminals to break into the safe.

“Steve,” says his savior. He drops back down next to Tony. “Doesn’t look like anyone actually came in after the explosion. Hawkeye’s probably out there.”

“What, you got mind-reading powers?” Tony jokes.

Steve smiles at him with the warmth of a lazy midday sun that Tony wants to bask in. “Nah. I’m a pretty boring guy.”

Tony snorts. “Cap’s a boring guy, and he’s still a superhero.”

“Cap?” Steve’s brow pinches. Tony is suddenly worried he might have pissed off a fanboy until he spies the burgeoning grin on Steve’s mouth. “Captain America?”

“He’s got the bread-and-butter of superpowers,” Tony explains. “Like, I’ll give him points for the outfit, but when he’s got a super-genius teammate who can probably end world hunger  _and_  willingly rage into the Hulk any second….”

Steve laughs, and not even the background wail of sirens can take away how pretty it sounds. “All right, that’s fair.”

The whole affair’s over in about fifteen minutes. In that time, Tony manages to wheedle out some things about Steve–such as he’s a former vet, which explains how he had so swiftly grabbed Tony and turned him away from the explosion before it hit him, and that now he volunteers with a buddy in support groups, occasionally dabbling in art on the side.

“Is that what that is?” Tony asks, nodding towards the large, square bag that Steve has been keeping close by his feet.

“What?” Steve follows his line of sight. “Oh. Yeah. My portfolio.”

Tony frowns. “Looks a little torn at the front.” He cranes his neck to get a better look at the damage, and–

“You,” Steve suddenly mirrors the movement, raising a hand and cupping Tony’s jaw in one heart-stopping moment, “got a little something here.” When did his voice drop an octave?

“Huh,” Tony says, forgetting everything else in favor of memorizing the way Steve’s thumb smooths over his goatee and then his cheek. “You got it?”

“Yeah, I got you.” Steve draws back, sliding his portfolio along the floor with him. He’s a little pink-faced too.

Tony has to get his number.

Unfortunately, that’s when Hawkeye tromps through the broken window of the bank and announces, “All right, people, we’re good!” effectively ruining the mood. (The fact that a bank robbery is even an established  _mood_ for Tony should probably be a persuasive reason to look into living somewhere else, but then where would he meet people like Steve?)

Steve shoulders his portfolio back on and helps Tony up, which weakens Tony’s poor heart even further. This is all very unfair. “You think Hawkeye sleeps with that mask on too?” he quips, unwilling to let the conversation die just yet.

But Steve just grins in that bemused way again and says, “Probably,” and walks Tony out of the bank with a light, guiding hand on the small of his back. 

True to Hawkeye’s word, some policemen are wrangling a handcuffed man into their car. He looks nothing special, though Tony suspected that when he decided to detonate an explosive on an unlocked door instead of, say, the shiny metal safe inside. But he digresses. Nearby, the Winter Soldier stands on guard, his sleek metal arm gleaming in the sun. His masked gaze falls on Tony, and it  _really_ says something about Steve that Tony’s attention remains raptured on the warm shape of his hand, not even straying towards that metal arm.

“So, I kind of have to go,” Steve begins, his hand finally falling away as soon as they’re on the sidewalk. Tony feels disappointment start to creep in until Steve adds, sounding a little shy, “But if you’re free tomorrow night, I…have an art show downtown? And I’d really like to see you again.”

“Definitely,” Tony says too quickly, and then, “Fuck, did I say that too quickly?”

Steve’s grinning again, and holy shit, Tony didn’t know he still had butterflies left living in his stomach. “Maybe. But I’m pretty happy that the feeling’s mutual.”

“Oh, good.” Tony pretends to brush it off, but he’s grinning too. It’s hard not to; Steve is infectious. “You wanna text me the address?”

“I, uh, don’t have my phone with me right now. But you can give me your number and I’ll text you later?”

“Yeah, that definitely works.” Tony waits for a beat before he realizes that Steve wants him to say it now. So Tony does recite it, and he watches Steve bite his lip before nodding. “Wow,” Tony says, pretending to scrutinize him. “Just like that?”

“I’ve got eidetic memory,” Steve chuckles. “Really good memory, in general.”

Tony arches an eyebrow. You better not forget me, then,” he warns without bite.

Steve promises, “I’d never, Tony.”

He already likes hearing Steve say his name.

Steve tells him goodbye, and Tony lets him go, watching him walk down the sidewalk. He passes by the Winter Soldier, who glances his way for a fraction of a second. Then the Soldier looks towards Tony again, and even though Tony has always pegged him for a solemn kind of guy, he has a nagging feeling that there’s a laugh under that mask. But what does he know?

Tony’s gaze flicks to Steve’s retreating back again.

If he sees a glimmer of silver through the slim tear on that portfolio case, well– It must be a trick of the light.


End file.
